


the open road and you (is all I could ever ask for)

by robotsdance



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (but also feelings), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Brienne of Tarth, Bisexual Jaime Lannister, Bottom Jaime Lannister, F/M, Gay Bar, Handkerchief Code, Lust at First Sight, One Night Stands, Pegging, Top Brienne of Tarth, biker Brienne, mentions of past Jaime/Cersei, mentions of past addam/jaime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:40:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23014894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotsdance/pseuds/robotsdance
Summary: “Well then Jaime,” Brienne says as she sets her beer down, “Now that we’ve got introductions out of the way, let me give you a piece of advice: Whatever it is you want to say to me, say it. The worst I could do is say no.”Alternatively:Brienne is a biker and Jaime is transfixed by her Big Strap-on Energy and begs her to peg him, with successful results.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 39
Kudos: 239





	the open road and you (is all I could ever ask for)

**Author's Note:**

> kirazi posed the question “who is going to write the obvious 'Brienne is a biker and Jaime sees her and is transfixed by her Big Strapon Energy and begs her to peg him, with successful results' fic” to tumblr and apparently the answer to that question was me. I will write it. Sigh.
> 
> This was written in a blur of “I’m never gonna post this so who CARES” and then edited up a bit, but also, and I cannot stress this enough, ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯.

The Blackfish is exactly how Jaime remembers it. It’s an old place. Old enough to be both a dive and an institution. The only gay bar for miles and miles. In the city there are about a million more options. A hundred different gay bars and clubs to choose from, depending on what you’re looking for. Out here it’s just The Blackfish.

The bar is much older than Jaime is. He remembers hearing stories about it when he was a kid. Stories that he tucked away into the back corner of his brain. Stories that he found himself returning to sometimes as he lay in his bed as he got older, half asleep and hard and not caring that what was getting him off wasn’t always the memory of…

It was the first bar he snuck into, with a fake ID that fooled no one but the guy at the door took pity on him and Addam and let them in, knowing exactly what kind of courage it took for two seventeen year olds from the middle of nowhere to have the nerve to try and sneak into The Blackfish.

Jaime had thought it would be a Big Moment. To be in the gay bar. To be seen in the gay bar. To be a maybe probably sort of bisexual guy in the gay bar. But it was mostly just him and Addam sitting in the corner sipping virgin drinks because they didn’t want to push their luck by ordering alcohol.

He remembers telling Addam that he thought he would feel different as they left. After he came here. That it would change something. That he would know something for sure. Or be something for sure. He didn’t know exactly what he was hoping for, but he knew it hadn’t happened.

Then he and Addam had kissed. About twenty feet from the door, half of the way back to his car. He can’t remember the exact sequence of events that led them to the kissing but he remembers kissing Addam.

Jaime remembers kissing Addam a lot their final year of high school.

But then Addam got into a serious relationship with someone who was not Jaime and Jaime went away for school and that was the end of whatever that was.

The Blackfish is exactly how Jaime remembers it.

And Jaime didn’t want to come here tonight.

*

Jaime hadn’t wanted to come here, but Addam said it would be fun. Jaime was in town again but he was also kind of mostly disowned. He’d told Addam he would just be around for a few days and Addam wanted to get together. Jaime wanted that too. But Addam wanted to go to The Blackfish with his fiancé and some friends. And Jaime. Jaime could come along too. Come to the bar with Addam and his fiancé and a couple of friends. It would be like it was back in high school, Addam said.

Addam still doesn’t quite get it. Addam had friends in high school. Jaime had Addam. And Cersei. But he doesn’t have Cersei anymore. And he doesn’t really have Addam anymore either.

*

Jaime is fidgeting with the tent card on the table that lists the drink specials and the upcoming themed nights. The themed nights that are all but pointless in the middle of nowhere but he supposes he appreciates the effort.

There are five people at their table now. Addam’s fiancé is pleasant and funny and kind. Exactly the sort of person Addam should marry. And his friends are fine. Just people Addam works with. One of them went to their high school but Jaime never crossed paths with him. The other one keeps mentioning his wife like he’s afraid Jaime might have forgotten he’s straight in the last three minutes. Jaime hasn’t said much since they got here and that’s fine by him.

He’s more than capable of coasting through another hour or so of this and then calling it a night.

Then she walks in.

*

“Uh Jaime?”

Addam is waiting for a reaction from him. Some clever remark. Something.

Jaime hasn’t been paying attention to anything Addam has been saying. 

He hasn’t been paying attention to anything Addam has been saying for quite some time.

He’s been thinking about her.

Whoever she is. Over in the corner booth.

She is all legs and leather, muscles and motorcycles, windswept and wonderful. 

He’s not looking at her. Not right now. He doesn’t want to be a creep. But gods. 

She’s alone, lounging in the corner booth, perfectly at ease as she sips a beer. She isn’t waiting for anyone. It’s obvious she isn’t waiting for anyone. She’s just alone. She doesn’t need anyone, least of all him.

Jaime wants her to shove him against the wall and fuck him open until he sees stars.

*

After seven more mentions of the guy’s wife Jaime makes some excuse about needing to get them more drinks and excuses himself. He walks over to the bar but all he sees is her.

She’s still in the corner, her drink is still mostly full. He considers sending her a drink, but that seems stupid. Everything he thinks of seems stupid.

He wishes he had more experience with this part.

He wishes he had any experience with this part.

He and Addam kind of just happened. And kept happening. Until it stopped. 

So that doesn’t help.

And he and Cersei…

Well.

He doesn’t remember that starting.

So that doesn’t count.

He glances around the bar in an effort to make it look like he’s interested in his surroundings and not just her as he laments the lack of socially acceptable ways to tell a stranger what he wants her to know.

“Can I get another one?” Jaime says, gesturing to what their table has been drinking. Then his focus settles on a wooden display box on the shelf behind the bartender and inspiration strikes so he adds, “And can I get a handkerchief?”

“It’s not hanky night til Thursday,” the bartender reminds him as he takes the box down from the shelf and places it in front of Jaime.

Jaime doesn’t care.

Whoever the woman in the corner is, she looks like the type who might know about outdated flagging systems. And if she isn’t the type to know, she will just continue to ignore him. But she picked the only gay bar for miles. She chose to come here. And he wants her to know that while he’s definitely into guys, he’s also definitely into her. And he wants. He wants her to know that he wants… that if she’s into guys… If she’s into him and she wants to he wants her to—

Jaime drops a couple of bills on the counter, quickly skims the coloured-coded legend provided on the inside of the box and takes a light pink handkerchief. Then he heads to the restroom where he tucks it into the back right pocket of his jeans so it hangs out.

He twists to look over his shoulder and checks out his reflection in the mirror above the sink a couple of times to make sure the handkerchief is secure and suitably visible. (It is.)

He makes a point to walk from the restroom to his table at such an angle that the handkerchief in his back pocket will be in full view to the woman sitting in the corner booth for as long as possible as he picks up the pitcher on his way back across the bar.

When he places the pitcher in the middle of the table Addam clocks which pocket the handkerchief is in and snorts into his beer, “Yeah we know buddy.”

“Shut up,” Jaime says, adjusting the position of his chair so he can watch whoever she is out of the corner of his eye.

“Literally everyone in a hundred mile radius knows,” Addam yawns. Which isn’t strictly true. Addam knows. Addam knows because Addam _knows_ and Addam is looking at him like he knows something else. But Addam always assumed that Jaime went away to school in the city and frequented the right places and put his genetics to good use and fucked around as much as he and Addam did their senior year.

But Addam doesn’t know everything because Jaime didn’t do that.

*

“We need another pitcher!” the guy with the wife declares.

Jaime is on his feet before anyone else can react.

He’s barely even drinking. He just wants an excuse to walk by her again.

He walks as slowly as he dares. He doesn’t quite look at her, but he doesn’t not look at her either.

If she notices him, he can’t tell.

He orders the pitcher, purposely not looking over his shoulder at where she is. If she’s looking at him she can see the handkerchief in his pocket. Maybe she’ll know he’s flagging.

Please gods let her know he’s flagging.

*

Jaime goes back to his table.

Ten minutes later he stands up to go get a glass of water.

(He’s not thirsty.)

*

“Hey pretty boy.”

Her voice is just as compelling as the rest of her. Just a little low. Just a little nonchalant. Just a little exactly what he wants to hear as she’s taking him roughly from behind—

“What’s your name?” she asks, watching him with a curious disinterest that isn’t rude or cruel. She’s just not sure yet.

But she’s talking to him.

She’s talking to him and she called him pretty boy even though he’s a few years older than her but he doesn’t mind at all because she thinks he’s pretty and now she wants to know his name and he needs to get his shit together and—

“Jaime.”

“Brienne,” she says when he fails to do more than stare at her in the space where he should have asked for her name in return. But she doesn’t look annoyed, just amused. Like his incompetence in this area is a decent source of entertainment for the time being.

He nods.

“Well then Jaime,” she says as she sets her beer down, “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, let me give you a piece of advice: Whatever it is you want to say to me, say it. The worst I could do is say no.”

He nods again. Then swallows. Say it. She said he should just say it. But there’s no reasonable way to say what he wants to say to her so what he says instead is, “Uh… I haven’t seen you here before.”

“That’s because I’m not from around here,” Brienne says with a knowing little tilt of her head, “But that’s not why you’ve been strolling past me every fifteen minutes for the last hour, is it Jaime?”

He shakes his head.

“I’m just passing through. You will never see me again. So whatever it is,” the way she emphasizes the word ‘whatever’, letting it hang between them, makes Jaime feel like she already has a pretty good idea what it is, like she knows exactly what truths he’s flagging with the handkerchief still hanging out of his back pocket, “Just say it.”

But he doesn’t know how to say that he wants her to take him out back and press him up against the wall so hard he’ll have bricks imprinted on his face for hours as she fingerfucks him until he—

He doesn’t know how to say that if she told him to bend over this table right now he would. Without question. Without hesitation. He would already be scrambling to undo his belt—

But Brienne is waiting and watching. And she wants him to say it.

So he says it.

“Fuck me.” It’s breathless and pathetic and he can’t believe that’s how he fucking said it, “Please?”

“Some men,” Brienne says, pausing to take a sip of her beer before setting the bottle back down with casual precision, “Say things like that. But that’s not what they really mean. Tell me exactly what you mean.”

Then she rises to her feet and oh fucking hells she’s even taller than he thought. She’s got a few inches on him, easy, and now she’s standing in front of him and looking down at him and he’s looking up at her and—

“I want you to fuck my ass,” he says, “Peg me. Finger me. Top me. Any of it. All of it. When I say I want you to fuck me that is exactly what I mean.”

She hums thoughtfully, “See that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He can’t believe he said any of those words out loud, but he shakes his head in agreement.

For a lingering moment she says nothing. And neither does he. Because what could he possibly say after that? But the worst she can say is no. And she hasn’t said no yet.

“Why me?” she asks, “Someone as pretty as you could have your pick I’m sure.”

He doesn’t understand the question, “Look at you.”

“Have a thing for leather do we Jaime?” she asks with a hint of a smile.

He shakes his head. Swallows. It’s so hard to think when she’s this close to him, “Not until tonight.”

She grins at that.

“So what is it?” The way she’s asking, the way she’s looking at him, the way she’s already got him rooted to the spot spilling his guts without laying so much as a finger on him. She already knows. She already knows and she wants him to say it.

She wants him to say it so he says it, “You look like you could top me until I forgot my own name.”

She moves closer. For a split second he thinks she’s going to kiss him, but she grazes past his lips and he feels her take a breath close to his ear before she says only, “That’s because I could.”

He goes absolutely still, afraid to breathe, afraid to move, afraid to do anything to get past this moment because if he says the wrong thing she might stop and fucking hells that’s already the hottest thing he’s ever heard anyone say in his fucking life and she still hasn’t said no yet she hasn’t said no—

She steps back enough to meet his eyes and considers him. Lets her gaze drift down his body and back up again. Then she says, “Do you ride?”

His brain short-circuits at the image that puts in his head. Her beneath him and inside him and him riding her for all he’s worth as she calls him pretty boy and—

“Bikes Jaime,” she says sounding amused again, and he knows he’s fucking blushing now but she doesn’t seem to mind, “Have you ever ridden a motorcycle?”

“No.”

“Would you like to?”

He would. He really really would. So he nods. Says yes. Then says it again.

“Then get your jacket.” There’s an edge to the way she says it that turns his brain to static. He returns to his table in a daze.

“Uh… I’m…” No valid excuse comes to him.

“Go.” Addam is smirking at him. The other people at the table glance up and offer unbothered goodbyes that Jaime barely returns before he’s on his way back to where Brienne is waiting for him.

*

Jaime knows exactly nothing about motorcycles but he loves everything about hers. Mostly because she’s standing beside it and watching him and she’s so entertained by his reaction and he doesn’t care what he looks like. She should know exactly what this is doing to him. Because she is doing all sorts of things to him.

“I’m just down the road,” she says, gesturing to motel sign visible on the horizon not far from where they are, “It might be faster to walk. There’s a whole ‘how to be a passenger’ spiel.”

“So give me the spiel,” he says, “Please.” Jaime absolutely does not want to walk. Not when her motorcycle is the other option. So she goes over the basics of being a passenger. How to get on the bike. What to do. What not to do. Where to put his hands. Then she presses a helmet to his chest and tells him to put it on.

He’s already wearing it when he realizes it must be her helmet because she’s not wearing one when she mounts the bike and starts it. But then she tells him to get on, so he does, exactly the way she showed him. Once he’s got his feet on his footrests she takes hold of his wrists and guides his hands to the passenger handles she pointed out earlier, but seeing her point to them and having his arms reaching around her waist to hold them are entirely different experiences. He’s very aware of her ass as she checks in with him again, very aware of her body and the sound of the bike and the way she glances over her shoulder to tell him to hold on.

*

The highway is empty and the bike is loud and she is so effortlessly focused and it is just them and the open road for a few glorious minutes before they are at the half-burnt out neon sign announcing there are vacancies.

*

The motel is crummy and generic.He’s driven by it thousands of times and never once been inside it. He never had a reason to.

Now he has every reason to.

Brienne pulls into the parking lot and brings the bike to a stop in front of the last room. He waits for her to tell him to get off, just like she told him to.

The lot is empty except for a single minivan at the other end of the parking lot in front of the room furthest away from them. He finds himself relieved he won’t have to worry about the noises he’s bound to make as she unlocks the door and leads him inside.

*

“Are you staying here long?” he asks as he does not even bother to take a cursory glance around the room because honestly who cares what bland artwork is hanging over the bed when she is standing right in front of him.

Brienne tosses the key onto the dresser before she turns to close the door behind him. Then she looks right at him and answers, “Just for tonight.”

“Just for tonight,” he echoes as he stares up at her with what he can only imagine is absolutely shameless lust.

She takes him to the wall and he gets his hands under her leather jacket, touches her torso with only the thin layer of her t-shirt between them and her hands are in his hair and her tongue is hot and wet against his own and she’s grinding her hips against his and he’s so fucking hard already and before long he’s shirtless, basking in the feel of leather and her body pressed against him and he’s grateful for her strength and the wall behind him because he does not trust his legs to support him under such circumstances.

*

Back at the bar Brienne asked what it was about her. But it’s this. It’s everything.

It’s her.

It’s everything about her.

Everything.

*

He’s got one of his hands under her shirt at her stomach, his thumb tracing where the leather of her pants begins. He’s on the cusp of pulling his mouth away from her long enough to ask if he can move his hand further down to find out if she’s as wet as he is hard when she halts his progress with a gentle touch on his wrist.

“That’s not why you’re here,” she says with a little smile that goes straight to his cock as her other hand slides down his torso and then around to his ass.

She pulls the light pink handkerchief from his back pocket and then holds it between them.

He stares at the handkerchief held loosely between two of her fingers and then back up at her.

That.

That is exactly why he’s here.

He nods.

Her grin turns downright sinful before she kisses him again. Just long enough to make him lightheaded before she pulls back and says, “Then I will be right back.”

When she turns away from him the handkerchief is hanging out of her back left pocket.

He slides down the wall a few inches at the sight.

*

He manages to shift his brain into gear enough to stagger towards the bed. He stumbles trying to get his shoes off so he sits down on the edge of the bed to pull them from his feet.

He doesn’t… he doesn’t know exactly what to expect when Brienne returns from the bathroom. Will she be already be undressed and wearing the dildo she’s going to fuck him with? The possibility has him hastily shoving his jeans off. He leaves his boxers on for now. Just in case.

Brienne returns not long after wearing exactly what she was when she left him. Leather pants. Leather jacket over a white t-shirt.

But now she’s carrying a small canvas bag.

She walks over to where he sits on the edge of the bed and empties it onto the bed beside him. He watches the contents land on the duvet: A handful of condoms. A bottle of lube. A baggy of black latex gloves. A harness. A dildo.

Her harness. Her dildo.

That she’s going to fuck him with.

He looks back up at her.

He’s never been so turned on in his life.

He wonders if she knows that.

Then she slowly trails her hand down her torso as he watches, utterly enraptured, as she removes her jacket and tosses it aside. His eyes very nearly roll back into his head at the sight of her in just her leather pants and her white t-shirt and when he breathes the name of every god he knows she grins.

So she must know.

Then she’s unzipping the fly of her pants and pushing them and her underwear to the floor in a single confident motion before she steps out of them. She shows no hesitation or bashfulness at being naked from the waist down in front of him.

Then she reaches beside him to pick up the harness and the dildo.

*

She puts the harness on while he sits on the edge of the bed and watches, mesmerized by the way her hands work to secure the leather straps to her hips.

He can’t wait to know what her fingers feel like inside him.

He can’t wait to know what her cock feels like inside him.

He can’t fucking wait.

But she smiles at him.

And makes him wait.

*

When she’s got the harness on and the dildo in place she asks if he likes what he sees. He nods. His brain too hazy with lust to articulate what the sight of her is doing to him beyond that.

She’s still wearing her white t-shirt. The hem of it falls just above where her silicone cock is jutting out.

He tries to commit the image to memory.

Because he knows.

He knows this is just for tonight.

*

Brienne asks him to pass her a condom and he does, fumbling with it in his haste to grant her request, to get closer to what that surely means is coming. She rips open the package and rolls it down onto her length with dexterity that must come from experience in this particular area and fuck he knew… he figured she knew what she was doing when she agreed to this but holy fuck.

He can’t take it any more.

The height of the bed isn’t quite right so he slides off the mattress and sinks to his knees in front of her instead.

He looks up at her. Waiting for permission.

She doesn’t tell him to put his pretty mouth to good use, but gods, it feels like she does.

So when she gives him a little nod he puts his pretty mouth to good use.

*

He can smell her arousal as he works his tongue over her length. Part of him longs to taste her there too, but that’s not what she brought him here for so he relaxes and takes her cock as deep as he can as she strokes his hair and murmurs soft words of encouragement.

His hands are on her legs, (legs. her _legs._ ) then on her ass, urging her to thrust, to use him, to fuck his mouth like she’s going to fuck his ass.

Her grip on his hair tightens.

And then she does.

*

He moans around her cock as she moves, making it clear he likes it, making it clear he wants more. More of her. More of whatever she will give him.

He squeezes her ass to stop himself from touching himself. Focuses on the feel of her using him how she pleases until he can think of nothing else.

And then she stops.

*

“Come here,” she says, her fingertips light on his jaw as she guides him off her cock, and then back to his feet.

He stands before her as best he can though he’s certain his knees will give out any moment. He looks up at her. She is so tall.

“You will tell me if I do anything you don’t like,” she says, “You will tell me if you want me to stop.”

“Yes.”

“Jaime. You will tell me when to stop.”

He nods. He can’t take his eyes off her. Her eyes. Holy fuck her eyes.

“Come here,” she says again.

He stands on his toes to kiss her as she pushes his boxers to the floor.

*

When she tells him to get onto the bed on all fours it is the best thing anyone has ever told him.

He feels the mattress shift as she joins him on the bed, kneeling behind him.

He looks over his shoulder in time to watch her pull on one of the latex gloves. She lets the cuff snap to her wrist with a thwack. Then she grins at him.

He actually shivers with anticipation.

*

“You will tell me when to stop,” she says again, “Say you understand.”

“I understand.”

“Good.”

The lube is cold but her hand is warm and so is he and she knows _exactly_ what she’s doing and fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

She teases her finger against him until he begs for more.

And then she gives him more.

*

Jaime’s never been fisted before but as Brienne slides another finger in and it feels so fucking right to have more and more of her inside him, he can’t help but wonder if he could handle it. If she could work him open to the point where her whole hand could—

Then her fingers move inside him just so and his hips jerk forward and then back on their own accord while his whole body sparks with pleasure that blots out all coherent thought. He presses back onto her fingers with abandon as she chuckles and asks if he’s ready for her to fuck him.

And he is definitely ready for that.

*

Her fingers are no longer inside him and he misses the feel of them already but he can hear the sound of the cap of lube being flipped open again. He pictures her stroking her cock with her slick hand and tries to keep himself from dwelling on the thought too much lest he lose what’s left of his ability to function.

*

Her hand is on his hip and the other must be on her cock because he can feel the tip of her nudging against him and gods he is so ready. He is so fucking ready.

She still takes her time as takes him. Inch by fucking inch. Like she knows that all he wants is all of her and she’s determined to prolong the moment before that happens to the fullest extent.

It’s a special kind of agony to have her inside him and to have to wait for more all at once.

*

She’s settled deep inside him when he hears her pulling off the glove. Sees it soar in the edge of his peripheral vision towards a wastepaper basket beside the bedside table.

(He doesn’t see if it lands on target as she chooses that moment to thrust.)

*

Her left hand on his hip, her right hand traces his spine up towards his neck and then scratches back down as he shoves his hips back to meet hers.

She comments on his impatience. Slows down just to fuck with him. To make him feel it. To make him earn it.

He all but screams in response.

*

She leans over him. He can feel the fabric of her shirt grazing against his back as she pushes her hand from his neck up through his hair and then makes a fist, tugging gently, making him tip his head back towards her as his mouth falls open and he speaks a language of fractured obscenities and encouragement he did not know he was fluent in.

“Remember,” she tells him. She’s still got a hold on his hair, still has her cock buried in his ass, “Tell me when to stop.”

He can’t fathom a world in which he would want her to stop.

*

She is relentless and restrained in equal measure. She quickly figures out what he likes, what makes him moan, what makes him claw at the sheets and slam his ass back against her even harder than before. She laughs sometimes, just little bursts of amusement escaping when she works her hips exactly right and he makes some shameless sound he couldn’t recreate if he tried and he thinks he’s going to die with the pleasure of it. She pushes him right to the brink of what he can endure and then backs off enough until all he needs is more. And then she gives it to him.

Fucking hells does she give it to him.

*

He could come from just this. Just a little bit more of this. He hasn’t bothered to reach for his cock and she hasn’t either but fuck he’s close.

The noises he’s making are getting steadily more desperate as she tightens her grip on his hips and thrusts harder. He swears on a shaky breath and she hums her appreciation and then she says, “I could do this all night.” and that’s very nearly it because she _could_ and his whole body is taut and ah fuck ah f—

But then she drags her cock almost all the way out as he collapses forward and keens into the pillow. Gods he is so fucking close—

She pulls out and tells him to turn over.

He rolls onto his back without second thought.

“Gods,” she says, pushing her hair off her forehead, “You are so pretty.”

He thanks the old gods and the new for the sight of Brienne looking down at him in this moment.

Because he may be pretty, but gods, Brienne is something else entirely.

Something magnificent.

*

She doesn’t need to tell him to spread his legs, to lift his hips to meet hers as she moves into position. Her hand is firm on the back of his thigh as she guides him to tilt his ass to where she needs it to be.

And when she slides back in it is so thrillingly easy all he can do is moan and breathlessly thank her over and over as he revels in getting to watch her do this to him.

She leans in close, braced over him as she rolls her hips and he whimpers and she smiles, slow and sly as she leans down closer still. Close enough for him to tilt his face towards hers, hoping that’s enough of an invitation.

As soon as she indulges him the kiss turns deep and desperate with no regard for finesse but she makes a little sound of approval before she thrusts into him again.

The kiss breaks as he arches beneath her but her face is still so close and he’s holding on to any part of her he can reach as she fucks him because he can’t get her close enough. Even as he moans and touches her and she leans down to kiss him again and then pulls her face just out of reach enough to watch him as she pounds into him.

He can’t get her close enough.

But she must know because she stays right with him as she fucks him.

She fucks him and watches him and he clings to her and manages to gasp, “Don’t stop.”

*

When he finally comes she fucks him through it. Fucks him through the blinding pleasure and the spasms that roll through his whole body. Fucks him through the aftershocks that threaten to unravel him completely. And then she slows her pace but does not stop as he lies beneath her unable to do more than feel her and them and everything as she fucks him still.

And it is so much. So much more than so much. The very edge of too much.

“Stop?” she asks.

Jaime wants to say no. He wants to know what will happen if she keeps going. He’s never… he’s never felt like this before. So wrecked and ruined in the best way. He’s never felt so… so… _everything_ before.

And it’s terrifying to be so far beyond the known limits of his body. Wherever she’s taken him, he’s never been here before. And he wants to keep going. To see what else she can do to him. But every little movement makes him tremor, and there’s something that’s not pain, but something close to it that he doesn’t know what to do with and he can't remember ever coming so hard in his life and he doesn’t want this to end but he doesn’t trust himself not to fall apart if they keep going—

His voice almost breaks as he nods and whispers, “Stop.”

*

She stills completely, still inside him for now but not for long. She tells him she’s going to pull out, giving him a moment to prepare. She waits for him to nod again, confirming he is ready. As if he could ever be ready.

And she is slow and careful but the loss still jolts through him with an intensity he could never have prepared for, every nerve ending in his body is still in high alert as he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to remember how to exist without her inside him.

*

“Hey,” she says, “Do you need anything?”

He shakes his head.

She picks up the light pink handkerchief and flicks it at him so it lands lightly on his stomach before she smiles and says, “I’ll be right back.”

*

“You can shower if you want,” Brienne says as she returns from the bathroom a few moments later. She’s still wearing the white t-shirt but now she’s wearing boxers as well. The sight of her makes his heart pound.

He still hasn’t even managed to wipe the come from his skin.

“Uhhh,” Jaime says.

“And after I can take you back to the bar,” she offers, “If you want.”

It’s early enough. The bar is still open. Addam and his friends are probably still there. And for a few seconds he considers the look on Addam's face if he strolled back into the bar all fucked out with the marks she left on his skin and—

“Do you want me to take you back to the bar? Or wherever else you’re staying?” Brienne asks again. She’s looking at him with that amused look again. Like she knows what she’s done to him and is still doing to him and she likes it. But it’s more than that. She likes him. It takes him a moment to realize what it is. But that’s what it is.

She likes him.

And not in the italics, she _likes_ him way that means things. She just, likes him. And even that is so much more than he’s used to.

She shifts so she’s lying on her side beside him, her head propped up on her hand. She’s not touching him. She’s not touching him at all but he feels her proximity like she’s holding him steady.

“Tell me what you want Jaime,” Brienne says, “The worst I can say is no.”

The answer that springs to mind is so raw it hurts his throat to even think.

_Take me with you._ That’s what he wants to say. Because that’s what he _wants._ And it’s so irrational, so impossible, so fucking stupid. But wherever she’s going tomorrow, he wants to go with her. Brienne and him and an endless stretch of highways unraveling before them. A different sunrise each morning. A different motel bed to fuck in each night. Nowhere to be but wherever they end up. Nowhere to be but with each other.

He hates how much he wants it. How real it feels. Real enough he can smell the dust they kick up as she takes him out of this shitty town.

The worst she can say is no, but he knows, he knows he can’t ask for that. He can’t ask for that because he couldn’t live with knowing exactly how it felt to hear her say no.

So what he says instead is, “Can I stay the night?”

“Sure,” she says.

They don’t talk much after that. His body wants sleep, even if that’s not what he wants to do right now. _I could do this all night_. That’s what she told him. He wishes he could fight the pull of oblivion and stay here with her because he knows that this is just for tonight.

But he can’t.

He dreams of the open road.


End file.
